LU
by anais-angel
Summary: "First time was chance...Second, well, let's call it fate." Person Of Interest/JohnreesexOC/Mature rating (Violence, language, sexual situations), Summary inside!
1. LU

Tall, dark and handsome burst through her front door with a bullet wound to the stomach and a need for somewhere to hide. Frustratingly charming, and a little cocky, he manages to sway her into letting him stay, at least long enough for her to patch him back up. Then, he was gone. Leaving a note and a small bit of cash, the only reminder of him the dried blood on her pristine white sofa and his rough handwriting.

It was pure chance that he would burst through her door that evening, but he's learned that chance was very few and far between in his line of work. Not long after, he finds himself chasing her through downtown New York, unwinding a spiderweb of lies and attempted murder, and she seems to be right in the middle of it all.

If there's one thing he's learned working for his reclusive, billionaire boss, it was that '_nothing is ever as it seems'_, and she was certainly no exception.


	2. 001:

**He barged right into her life. And she means literally, burst right in through the front door.**

If she wasn't dumbstruck with the sound of her door jam snapping, she sure as hell was by the tall, dark and handsome figure that emerged. _Regardless of how attractive he no doubt was_, she wasn't too keen on the intrusion, and sheer instinct had her pulling her Glock out from under her couch and cocked back in the time it took him to see her, eyes wide enough that she could make out the hazy blue there.

She always joked about the perfect man walking right through that door, but this was a little ridiculous.

"Make another move and I won't hesitate." She stated, her tone surprisingly even despite the subtle quiver that resided in her wrist.

"I'm not here to hurt you, I'm hiding. Do you mind?" He gestured toward the door with a quirk of his head, his voice just above a baritone whisper. It was endearing, but not enough to trust him inside her home, door closed and confined.

"From what?" She countered, keeping her voice at her usual tone, hell, maybe even a little louder, she wasn't sure. The adrenaline was starting to kick in, her finger itching to caress the trigger, but she stayed her hand as she glared him down with a narrowed, verdant gaze.

"From some men that won't hesitate either." He breathed out, sharply. She furrowed her brows, noticing the subtle wince that crossed his angled features. A quick once over was enough to notice the blotch of red staining the lower left of his pristine, white shirt. She hesitated a beat,

"Oh, for fucks sake." She breathed out, pulling her lower lip between her teeth in a brief moment of contemplation, before nodding her head once. Tall, dark and handsome let out a relieved sigh, kicking his leg out to shut the door, hands raised just enough to let her know he wasn't there to hurt her. His palms were red and surprisingly steady considering the blood.

"I'm not going to lie, I'm not feeling any safer in here." He remarked, his voice was a little louder now, laced with sarcasm but still low and smooth. A soft snicker from her as she moved, standing slowly from the small love seat while keeping her arms pin straight, and him in her sight.

"How do I know you're not gonna try somethin'?" She queried. Her shoulders squared, as she tentatively stepped closer.

"If I were, this would already be over...And you already know, I'm not in the best fighting conditions." He remarked. She quirked a brow, cocky and perceptive.

There was a standstill for a moment, the two of them caught in a unison glare. She was chewing through her lower lip in debate, before finally lowering her gun with acquiescence.

"I'm goin' out on a limb here, it's not somethin' I normally do. You so much as move a muscle a way I don't like, you're goin' down." She warned him, watching the smirk that just barely pulled at his lips, before gesturing toward the small love seat.

"Ditch the jacket, let's have a look at it." She walked past him, closing the door to the best of her ability. "You're payin' for this, buddy."

"If I get out of here in one piece, I'll buy you a whole new house." He countered, lightly. This earned him a small chuckle from her, turning on a heel as she flipped the safety on the Glock and tucked it into the back of her worn jeans.

"Finally, some incentive." She joked, watching as he pulled the black suit jacket off his broad shoulders. He was dressed well, way nicer than the folks in these parts, and she was more than curious.

"What's a guy like you doin' wandering around these parts?" She asked, crossing the small living room to the coat closet near the narrow hallway, eyes glued to his movements. There was a strap on his shoulder, a SIG Saur, P226.

"Just visiting, I hear the lower south side is nice this time of year." He replied. She rolled her eyes with a silent scoff.

"You think this is nice, check out the double B's across town, they're a lovely bunch." She countered, as she rummaged through the closet, finally happening upon her first aid kit. Modified to suit her personal needs, including a nice little stitching kit.

"I don't know, the people here seem a lot friendlier, I might just have to stick around. Look into a timeshare." His voice sounded strained, a clear grimace as he pulled the shirt out from his slacks. She stopped a moment, fingers cradling the kit as her eyes took in the sight; smooth, tan skin. Surprisingly toned, given the grey that specked his temples. She couldn't pinpoint his age exactly, guessing late 30's, maybe early 40's. He inhaled sharply, long, lithe fingers moving to press on the wound, to gauge the severity, and then there was blood. Lots of it.

"Shit." She breathed out, quickly closing the distance to take a knee before him, reaching out without a second thought. She quickly swatted his hands away, those long fingers stained red now, before yanking on the shirt, ripping the buttons off to clatter against the wooden floor beneath them.

"Damn, I like this shirt." He protested, roughly.

"Oh hush, lean back for me." She ordered, pulling the shirt aside to get a better look. She heard a solid thump, and she glanced up to see he had passed out, the back of his head hitting the wooden frame of the love seat.

"Well, that makes things easier." She breathed out, one hand closed down hard on the wound, the other opening the kit to dig around for the sharp medical pliers she had procured before she left UC Health. She thanked her graces for the time she spent as a resident at that wretched hospital, as she skillfully went to work.

Her hands were steady as she clipped the string, the last stitch secure, before letting out a deep sigh, sitting back on her feet with her knees digging into the hardwood floor. She wasn't sure how long it's been, the sun long gone and replaced with the unnatural light of the city.

"You owe me a new couch, too." She commented, softly. The was a puddle, turning her once white couch into something straight out of a crime scene. She dropped the needle and pliers into the metal mixing bowl she grabbed earlier, the water and bleach concotion tinted pink with the small bullet that sunk to the bottom.

"Quite the mystery man, aren't ya." She mumbled, huffing out a breath to push her thick hair away from her eyes, while she looked him over.

He was attractive, anyone with a set of peepers could tell. Tall, but then again most were compared to her. Lithe, wiry muscles set over his broad shoulders and torso. Her verdant gaze trailed upwards, to take a real look at his face. Angled features, chiseled even. Really rockin' that salt 'n pepper look. Light blue eyes, she remembered. But they were dark in a way she couldn't describe. And let's not forget, a bullet wound to the lower abdomen.

Who are you?

She was quiet as she moved closer, snatching his jacket off the empty cushion beside him, quick fingers rummaging through the pockets to find nothing. She 'hmm'ed, quietly, setting the jacket down before dipping a knee onto the sofa, her hands reaching toward the pockets on his slacks. She was always good with her hands, weather it be snatching a wallet out someones pocket, or sewing up a gunshot wound, she was good. So it came as a complete shock when his hand suddenly snapped out, long fingers wrapping around her thin wrist in an iron grip, and she let out a yelp.

"At least buy me dinner first." He mumbled, eyes fluttering open to catch hers in a deadpan glare. She was nearly mortified, quickly yanking her hand out of his grasp to take a step back.

"_I didn't-_I was lookin' for your wallet. I don't even know who you are, and you're here bleedin' out on my couch!" She countered, stumbling over her words, and he grinned. _God, he's got a helluva grin_, she thought, her cheeks flaming red.

"My name's John."

"John. Thank you, Christ was that so hard?" She huffed out, averting her gaze as she willed her cheeks to cool down. John let out a small chuckle, short lived with a wince and an instinctive grasp to his stomach.

"Hey, don't touch it. It could get infected. I still gotta cover it, tough guy." She scolded him, quickly leaning down again to push his hand away. John took a steadying breath as he dropped his arm to his side, those hazy blues half lidded with exhaustion as he watched her rummage through her kit.

"You've got a pretty deep accent there. You're not from around here, are you?" He asked, adjusting his posture, a soft grunt followed shortly after as she snatched up the gauze from her kit. She looked up at him through her lashes, a momentary silence falling between them.

"Nah. I'm upstate. Rochester." She answered, after a moment. Her voice was quiet now as she worked on covering the wound, her fingers laying flat along the smoothness of his abdomen.

"What're you doing in Queens?"

"That's my business." She countered, her fingers sliding along the edge of the medical tape, and his skin. He was warm, she noted.

"You need to rest, I'll get you some water." She suddenly pulled away, standing straight to pivot on a heel and head toward the small kitchen across the room, bare feet padding along the hardwood floor.

John pushed himself further up, sitting almost straight now as he slowly worked on what remaining buttons were left on his shirt. _It wasn't every day a beautiful woman tears your clothes off, although the circumstances weren't ideal,_ and he found himself smirking just the slightest as he eyed her from across the room. Her figure was lithe and petite, dawning a simple pair of denim jeans and a white tank top. Well, it was white before he showed up. She turned around, approaching him with a glass of water and a closed fist,

"Here, some ibuprofen. S'all I've got, but it'll help." John took the offering, holding his hand out for her to drop the tablets in his palm, and he noticed her fingertips were stained red now, too.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She countered, "Really, if whoever's lookin' for you finds out I helped you out, we're both going to be in trouble."

John nodded,

"I'm not the gossiping type." He assured her, before popping the 4 pills into his mouth.

She watched his Adam's apple, prominent, bob up and down until the tall glass was empty. Reaching her hand out, she took the glass and returned back to the kitchen. John was intrigued, curious as he watched her set the glass down before turning around to lean against the sink, hands grasping the edge before they locked eyes.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Why does it matter?" She countered. He quirked his head to the side, just the slightest.

"I told you mine. It's only fair I know the name of the woman who saved my life."

"Yeah, still tryin' to figure out if that was a good thing."

John nodded his head solemnly.

"I guess you could say that's debatable" He remarked with a wry smile. She knit her brows, moving to cross her arms over her chest. "But I'm grateful, regardless."

Silence fell between them, thick and palpable, before she finally spoke up.

"Lu."

"Lu? Lucy, or Lucille?" He asked, playing the name on his tongue, testing it. He liked it, it suited her.

"Lucille."

"That's nice. It's got a nice ring to it." He whispered, breath shallow and she could tell.

"Alright, John. Now that we've got the pleasantries outta the way, you really need to get some rest." She pushed herself off the counter, arms dropping to her sides as she approached him.

John liked the way her hips swung, unconsciously sauntering toward him. He could tell, it was just the way she was. All attitude, a spitfire packed into a small, lithe frame.

If he wasn't who he was, he might have met her at a bar or something, somewhere where he could buy her a drink, get to know her. But he wasn't that man, and he let out a soft sigh as his eyes closed on their own accord.


	3. 002:

**She stirred, the light seeping in through her open blinds to bask her closed lids with red**. The dull ache from her position pulsing through her back and neck, stiff and ridged from hours of stillness.

"Ow." She grunted, her eyes opening with a reluctant flutter. She found herself curled into the small, cushioned lounge chair pushed into the corner of her quaint living room. She didn't remember falling asleep, just the sight of John passed out on her couch.

She had managed to pull his feet up, pushing him into a haphazard sprawl along the small love seat before pulling the throw blanket over his lengthy frame. _It wasn't the best, but it was better than bleeding out on my doorstep,_ she thought. Perching herself into the corner seat, she watched him sleep. Pondering what this mysterious man's backstory could be. Next thing she knows, she's blindsided by the sun. Tall, dark and mysterious is nowhere to be seen.

Lu pushed herself up with a groan, throwing her arms above her head to stretch her lithe frame with a relived sigh. _Save's me the trouble of wakin' you up, and kickin' you out._ And yet, there was a small frown of disappointment on her full lips as she approached the vacant couch. The blanket was folded and placed along the cushioned headrest, the stain still as prominent as ever. There was also a folded piece of paper, looks to be taken out of her printer in the makeshift office down her narrow hallway. She snickered as she picked it up, knowing full well he snooped around her place while she was sleeping, before opening it up.

A few hundred dollar bills slipped out to billow onto the sofa, and there was a small quirk of her lips, almost a smile, as she read the rough handwriting inside.

_Lu,_

_Thank's for the help. Sorry about your door. This doesn't pay for it all, but maybe next time I'll have that new house for you. Maybe even throw in a new couch._

_\- John._

She shook her head, closing the letter before glancing at the bills on her sofa. She could make out 6, probably a few more stuck together.

"You're makin' it real hard to be mad at you." She breathed out, her thumb stroking the white paper in her hand as she smiled to herself.

**.**

"You didn't tell her anything, correct?" Finch's sharp voice cut through John's thoughts as he leaned his head back against the chair, tucked close to the large bookshelf. Finch stood before him, one hand grasping his cane tight enough to turn knuckles white. "Next time, call me, or one of those Detectives you've got in your back pocket, instead of bursting into some woman's home."

"Are you scolding me?" John asked, with a smirk. Finch let out a huff, reaching a hand up to push his glasses up his nose while averting his eyes.

"I suppose so, Mr. Reese. You're lucky she has medical experience, unlike the majority of her neighbors." John quirked a brow, pushing himself to sit up.

"You looked into her?"

"I felt it was necessary, after her encounter with you." Finch retorted, turning quickly before heading back toward the computer in the center of the large, spacious room.

"Did you find anything worth mentioning?" John queried, earning him a sideways glance from Finch.

"I don't think it matters. She's not of our concern if she hasn't been selected by the machine. But, I will say she's got quite the colorful background." He turned forward, fingers fast on the keyboard as he brought up the information. John stood behind him, curiosity piqued.

"Lucille Ann Miller, aged 26. Daughter of Francis and Shirley Miller,-"

"Wait, Francis Miller. Like the founder of the Upstate Country Club?" John interjected. Finch nodded his head,

"That would be the one. Looks like has quite a bit of an empire to fall back on, which raises the question,"

"Why was she staying in lower Queens, in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city." John questioned. Finch nodded lightly.

"She attended NYU School of Medicine straight out of high school, earned her doctorate in quite an astoundingly short amount of time, top of her class. Began work at UC Health, but only stayed for 20 months. She's won a few awards for marksmanship at her fathers club,"

"That explains the gun." John mumbled,

"And moved to Queens about a month ago."

"Am I wrong in thinking Francis Miller passed away recently?" John thought aloud, and Finch shook his head.

"You are not. Francis Miller died 2 months ago, apparent heart failure. Lucille being his only child, and successor."

"Running from her responsibilities?"

"It's a possibility."

"Is that all you've got?" John asked,

Finch made a small _'hm.'_ sound, turning his attention to Reese now, a stoic judgement John knew all too well.

"Seems to me you're rather infatuated with this young woman. I don't want this to get in the way of our work, ."

John's lips pulled up just the slightest, that barely there smirk he was so well known for.

"It's just a little curiosity Finch. No need to worry."

Finch eyed him a brief moment as he stood straight, noting the subtle wince that graced his features, before turning his gaze back to the screen.

"Regardless, we've been given another number. Seems you'll be heading back down to Queens. Please try not to break into anyone else's home, at least, while they're present."

John let out a breathy chuckle at Finch's attempt at humor,

"Give me the details on the ride, Finch."

"Take the car, this time. I don't think it would be wise to ride a motorcycle with day old stitches." Finch remarked. He was greeted with silence, and he turned just enough to see Reese had already disappeared.

**.**

"Richard Garves, 54 years old. A widower, wife passed away 4 years ago from a severe case of Pneumonia. One son. Micheal, aged 28..._Interesting._"

John was tucked away in the corner of the diner, bustling with the early morning church rush.

"I've got him in my sights. Anything else?" Reese casually sipped his coffee, black, gaze flickering from the older, plump target to the door.

"It's a small world, ...Garves was in business with Francis Miller, co-founding the Upstate Country Club."

"Could this have anything to do with Lucille being in Queens, instead of back home taking over the family business?" John queried.

"I suppose it could. What are the odds you would burst into her home the day before we received this number." Finch thought aloud. "It seems we'll be having a closer look at after all."

"We still have to figure out what Richard Garves is hiding."

"Indeed. I've taken the liberty of accessing the Receptionist's computer at the country club. Garves has a full schedule ahead of him. I'll send you the address to his home. Have you learned anything new while trailing?"

"Not yet."

Across the diner, Garves rummaged through the inner breast pocket of his suit, producing a phone. Glancing down at the phone in his own hand, John waits.

_Calling ... **Michael**_

He pressed the ear to his phone, gaze lingering on Garves as he listened in on the call.

"Where are you?" Richard Garves' voice was gruff, deep and disgruntled. "I've been sittin' here for at least 30 minutes."

_"I'm almost there, Dad. I ran into an old friend. Says Miller's daughter is still in town."_ Michael huffed out.

Garves inhaled deeply, sitting back in the booth he had just barely managed to fit in.

"Well, that poses a problem, doesn't it?"

_"It's not like we can just make her disappear, Dad. She's gonna come back home sooner or later."_

"That's where you're wrong, Son. I'm calling a rain check on breakfast. Send me the address they saw her at, and I'll talk to you later at the club." Garves suddenly cut the call short. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Reese watched as he pulled out a bill from his wallet, slapping it down on the table before sliding out, _granted with some effort_, of the booth.

"Finch." Reese tapped his earpiece, "Lucille is definitely mixed up in this mess. Looks like a classic case of greed and attempted murder." Reese commented, dryly.

"You think the Garves' are trying to take her out of the picture? It would make sense. The Country Club would be run entirely by the father and son duo." Finch remarked, "Thus giving them control over the entire fortune.."

"What about her mother? Shirley?" Reese questioned, leaving a small bill on his own table before sliding out of the corner booth to weave through the crowded diner.

"Shirley Miller is currently residing at..._UC Health._ She's been placed into a medical coma."

"Starting to think all these hospital visit's aren't coincidence."

"I agree. We're going to need to get in contact with before the Garves do, else she returns to that hospital in less than ideal terms."

"On it." John was quick as he slipped out of the diner, turning his attention to the right just in time to see Richard Garves duck into a black, 2010 SUV. He was quick to procure his phone, snapping a quick picture of the license plate before approaching the motorcycle he had taken earlier that morning, parked alongside the curb.


	4. 003:

**He weaved through the stop and go traffic, eventually reaching her neighborhood, where the cars were few and far between.** It was a run down area, not the safest place to live, Unless they owned a gun or had a gang at their back.

"Upper class folks like Garves' wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like this." Reese commented, his voice muffled with the black helmet atop his head as he slowed his bike down, the sight of her rundown apartment complex coming into view.

"She already knows they're after her. Smart girl." Finch remarked. John could hear the subtle clacking of keys on a keyboard through his headset,

"More research?"

"Yes. A man like Garves' wouldn't do the dirty work himself. He had to have hired someone else to hunt her down. Checking his financial records as we speak. Have you located ?"

"Just about." John halted his bike in one of the street parking spaces, between a run down Crown Victoria and a familiar black SUV. "Although, I think I might be late to the party." He quickly pulled the helmet off his head, setting it on the seat of the bike before making his way toward the entrance of the lobby.

There was a concierge desk, empty. Two elevators on either side. Reese was quick to press the lift button, a signaling ding before the doors opened to reveal none other than Michael Garves. Reese hesitated for the briefest moment, unnoticeable by the younger man, who avoided eye contact.

"Excuse me." Michael walked past him, and John quickly entered the elevator, his cerulean gaze following the man as he hastily left the lobby.

"Just ran into Michael Garves."

"You let him go?" Finch almost sounded surprised, and Reese smirked just the slightest bit.

"I don't think shes here. No sign of physical exertion, no blood on his clothes. I don't even think he had a weapon on him. I'm checking out her apartment, either way." John informed Finch, as the elevator doors closed.

**.**

She kept her head low as she walked along the bustling streets of downtown. The weather was getting colder, a brisk chill that nipped at her ears kept her shoulders squared and her collar high. The city was a large place, but the transit didn't take her close enough to where she needed. UC Health, a quaint hospital located near the outskirts of New York City.

She had no doubt in her mind they were there, waiting for her to visit her sick mother. She never liked Richard Garves', always had a nasty feeling about him, but this was a surprise even for her.

Two months ago, they went after her father. It was a shock, like a brutal punch in the gut, and she dropped her medical instruments on the floor that day. The nurse pulling her aside in the middle of an appendectomy. It was supposed to be an easy day, but it was anything but. It was 20 minutes of pacing in the E.R lobby before she saw his body get carted in on a gurney, fresh from the office.

"Francis Miller, 53 year old, Caucasian male. Caller said he was suffering a heart attack, collapsed on the ground, the whole deal." The EMT explained to another doctor, her colleague and quite possibly her only friend, Sarah McLaughlin, Cardio specialist.

"Stats?" She asked, quickly walking past Lucille's frozen form to the gurney.

The EMT went on a spout of vital listings, all of which seemed to fade into the background, Lucille's feet finally inching forward enough to touch Sarah's shoulder,

"That's my dad." She breathed out. Sarah nodded her head,

"I know, Lu. Trust me on this okay,-"

"Let me help. I-I can help, get me a gown, I'll-"

"No! I love you, but you can't work on family. Even if you were allowed to, you're not in the right place right now. Let me through, Lu." There was a subtle threat there, like _If you take one step through those doors, I'll call security myself, type threat._ Sarah was always a stickler for rules.

Lucille halted in her steps, Sarah's shoulder jerking her out of the way. Her eyes landed on her fathers face, pale, obscured by the oxygen mask and the leveling strap across his forehead.

She said nothing else as she watched the entourage surrounding the gurney push through the swinging doors to take a sharp right, disappearing down the narrow hallway's of E.R rooms.

It only took 20 minutes for Sarah's blonde head of hair to tumble out of her blue surgical hat, her fingers trembling just the slightest bit as she held it to her chest. Lu had stopped burning a line in the carpet of the waiting room, the sound of the T.V's infomercials the only noise in the spacious area.

"Is he?" She whispered, her eyes were red. The tears had been going for a while now, her makeup smeared across her face from the countless times she vigorously palmed her cheeks.

"I am so sorry, Lu." She began, and Lucille knit her brows.

"Don't. Do not use that fuckin' scripted bullshit on me, Sarah!" She burst out, and she felt like she was seconds away from imploding, her chest tight and her stomach flipping. Sarah winced at the volume of her voice, her pretty blue's averting to stare at the ground for a moment, waiting for Lucille to let it out. And let it out, she did.

"You told me to trust you! If I were in there, he might not be dead! I-I could have fuckin' saved him!"

"There are rules, Lu-"

"I don't give a shit about the rules! If it were your dad, or even Grace in there, you would have barged right in and taken it into your own hands. You just couldn't do that for me, could you?" She barked, and Sarah's expression soured at the mention of Grace, her 4 year old daughter.

"Do not bring her into this, that's low Lu, even for you." She countered, and Lucille scoffed.

"Low? How low is letting your best friends father die?" Lucille hissed the words. She knew it wasn't fair to put this on her, she wasn't stupid. There's only so much you could do to save a life, and she had no doubt Sarah did it all. But she couldn't help how raging mad she was.

"Don't put this on me, Lu." She breathed out, dropping her arms to her side as she clenched her blue surgical hat in her hand. "I'm sorry this happened, really, I am. And when you're ready, I think we need to talk. Not about us, about...Your father."

Lucille glanced at her, eyes trimmed with red with fresh tears staining her cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

"Something wasn't right, Lu...I don't think it was a normal heart attack." Lucille's eyes widened, her legs trembling now as she took in the information. Her first thought; foul play. Her second, goes by the name of Richard Garves.

**.**

John, for the first time in quite some time, knocked on the door. He waited a beat, before knocking once more to receive no answer. The apartments didn't seem to put much into security, and he was quick to unlock the door and quietly enter. The sight of her living room was familiar; small, not much furniture say for a cushioned lounge chair pushed into the corner and a blood stained love seat in the center. No T.V, no bookshelves or pictures adorning the walls. It was clear she had no intention of getting comfortable.

He walked through the living room, and took a left down the short, narrow hallway. Two doors, one leading to a run down bathroom, the other leading to her bedroom. He knew this much from his first visit. John reached up to tap his earpiece,

"Looks like I was right. No sign of her at the apartment." Reese spoke low, as he walked into the bedroom. There was a desk, housing a laptop and a printer. A couple opened bills and a notepad, which was empty.

"My second guess would be the hospital, UC Health. Her mother is still there, she could have gone for a visit. I'll send you the address."

"Any word on a hit man?" Reese replied, pulling out the computer chair to take a seat. His long fingers were quick to open it, bringing up the password screen.

"Garves' had very recently made a payment of ten thousand dollars to an anonymous source. Quite a low price for a life, I'd say." Finch remarked.

"That's low for a hit. Either it's something else, or he went to the discount aisle." John commented, fingers working away on the keyboard.

"I'll try and back source, find a way to access the anonymous account. If he's already made the payment, then her life is in danger as we speak."

"Then we'll have to pick up the pace a little." John mumbled, before entering the bypass code on her laptop. Loading the main screen, he quickly swept the laptop for anything useful.

A single file caught his attention, simply labeled GARVES. John opened the file, reading the documents inside.

"This is an outline of Garves' schedule, taken straight from the reception desk at the Country Club...Meetings, dinner reservations...Locations. Finch, I think we've got this backwards," John spoke up, scrolling through the document to come across the rest of her plan. He quickly closed the laptop, pushing himself away from the desk to stand.

"_She's_ going to kill Richard Garves, not the other way around."


	5. 004:

004:

**She stepped through the front doors of the hospital, her head low as she avoided eye contact with the multitude of people there.** It was a bustling place, like she remembered, Doctors and nurses moving about, going through their own agendas of saving lives. She could almost say she missed it, if not for her father dying in the confines of these pristine white walls, her mother laying on her deathbed three floors above her.

She wore a black trench coat, tied securely around her narrow waist, her hands in the pockets as she brushed past a couple who had stopped in the middle of the walkway. Her fingers were clutching the grip on her gun, safety on to float around in her pocket. She didn't bother investing in a holster, as she thought there was no need. No one expected _her_ to be carrying.

"Lu?" A familiar voice spoke up, and she faltered in her steps, coming to a halt before pivoting on a heel. Sarah stood there, a clipboard in her hands. "How are you? I heard your mother was staying up on third, surprised I haven't seen you sooner." She began, stepping closer, probably to start some small talk Lu just wasn't in the mood to hear. Although, the would be lying if she said said she didn't miss Sarah's pretty face.

"Hey Sarah...Long time no see." She pulled her hands out of her pockets, embracing the taller woman in a short lived hug, before stepping back. She ran a hand through her wild tresses, her lower lip between her teeth in a force of habit, before she spoke up.

"Yeah, Doctor Bernat's got her in an induced coma, say's it'll help keep her steady. Lower's the risk of strokes, and all that." She explained, and Sarah nodded her head.

"I know, Lu. I'm a doctor, remember?" She threw her a lighthearted smile, and Lu let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah, I know. It's just...You remember my dad?" She asked. Sarah shifted her weight on her feet, arms crossing over the clipboard in her hand before nodding.

"How could I forget?"

"I think...And you can't tell no one I said this, but I think the same thing is goin' on, with my mom. I'm tellin' you, Sarah. There's someone goin' after my family, and I think I know who it is." She breathed out, her tone hushed. Sarah knit her brows, averting her eyes as she spoke.

"Lu. You can't still be hung up on this. I mean, they autopsied your father, said there was nothing unusual there. This is why you were put on leave in the first place, remember? All this crazy talk about hitmen and murders...I thought you were getting help. You told me that's why you put in your resignation." Sarah replied. Lu pursed her lips, letting out a deep breath through her nose as she took a step back.

"I quit this place because my father died here. You think I wanna work somewhere and be reminded how I couldn't do anything to save him? You don't have to believe me, it's fine. No one does. But I'm not lettin' the same happen to my mom. It was nice seein' you, Sarah. Oh, and congrats on the promotion." Lu turned on a heel before Sarah could get another word in. The blonde stood there a moment, clutching the clipboard as she watched her form disappear behind the sliding doors of the elevator.

John Reese set the pamphlet he was 'reading' back on the display panel, adjusting his jacket before reaching up to tap his ear piece.

"I think Lucille is on a path for revenge. She believes her fathers death wasn't an accident. Pretty sure she's got her gun in her pocket, too."

"If that's the case, Garves must be the one behind it. Although, the ten grand transferred from his account led me to a private seller of upper class accessories, watches and the like. He hasn't hired anyone to kill her, at least...Not yet."

"Then we need to get her out of trouble, before she causes any." Reese commented, as he stepped into the elevator.

**.**

She didn't see anything out of the ordinary as she approached her mothers room, quickly opening the door and closing it behind her. It was silent, say for the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and she slowly approached the bedside.

"Hey, ma." She whispered, pulling up one of the lounge chairs to take a seat, her hand sliding underneath her mothers. She was clammy, her skin an offset color and Lu couldn't stand the sight of it. "Sorry I didn't come sooner. I've been dealin' with some things." She stoked her hand with her thumb, "I know if you could, you'd tell me what really happened. They say it was a stroke, but I have a hard time believin' that." She clenched her hand then, brows knit as she set her eyes on Shirley's angled features. "Garves isn't gonna get away with it for a second time. I'll do whatever I need to do. Wish I could stay longer, but," She broke away, pushing the chair to stand up, "I don't know if he's got someone comin' for me yet, or not."

Lu reached into her pocket, taking out the gold wedding band she had grabbed before she left their home in Rochester. It was her fathers, Shirley having placed it on the end table on his side of their bed, back when they were still mourning together. She fiddled with it a moment, moving it to and fro between her fingers, before setting it down on the small table, next to the flowers she had sent a day prior.

"I'll be back. Promise."

She quietly closed the door behind her, her hands reaching into her pockets as she turned to walk away, right into a solid chest. She gasped, quickly taking a step back and glancing up.

"_John?" _She breathed out, bewildered. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

John reached out then, gently grasping her upper arm, his hand tight like a vice. Lu's first instinct was to pull away, her brows furrowing as she geared up to cuss him out, when he suddenly leaned down,

"There are three men here, and I don't think they're looking to visit anyone but you." He warned her, his voice hushed. Lu went ridged then, as she very obviously looked around the hall.

"How the-I don't understand, how do you know that? Are you _followin' me?_" She growled, pulling her arm. John ignored her question, yanking her closer to his side as he began walking toward the opposite end of the floor, near the stairwell.

"I've got her, Finch. Headed somewhere to have a chat." He informed, and Lu was staring up at him, bewildered.

"You're crazy, you must be. Talkin' to your imaginary friend-_you know_, this is considered kidnapping?" She remarked, as she begrudgingly walked beside him. John glanced down at her, those pretty blues seemingly looking right through her,

"Couldn't be worse than murder, Lu." He countered, and she froze, her feet halting.

"What did you say?"

"Let's talk about it on the drive." He simply replied, his hand still on her arm as he stood before her. Lu stomped her foot down, and John couldn't help but think she looked like a child having a tantrum, her pretty features distorted with frustration as she glared at him.

"No. We're talkin' about this now. Do you know about Garves? Please, tell me I'm not crazy." She searched his face, expression softening into surprise, "_You do_. You believe me. Listen to me, he killed my dad. I know it-I mean, there's no real way to prove it, but I just know-"

"I believe you. But you're not going to kill him in return." He chastised her. His eyes flipped from her, to the three men down the hallway. One of which moving to get a better view of the duo, "We need to get out of here, now." He pulled on her arm again, and she yanked in return.

"You can't stop me from doin' what I need to do, John. I don't care who you are, you don't know what I've been through, how many people have called me crazy-"

"I'm probably one of the only people who do know. Now, _let's go." _He urged her on wards, and she suddenly yanked her back, pulling free from his grip.

"I'm sorry, John. No deal." She breathed out, taking a couple steps back while reaching into her pocket. John frowned, glancing past her head to see the trio approaching, guns drawn low, to their sides.

"Sorry, Lu." He gave her a half attempt at a smile, before suddenly rushing her. She yelped as he roughly grasped her wrist, her fingers losing the grip on her Glock, the sound of it falling out of her pocket to hit the floor deafening, before he easily hoisted her upwards onto his shoulder.

"H-Hey! Put me _down!" _She shouted, her balled up fists thumping against his back, his shoulder digging into her stomach as she squirmed against his steadying hand on her hip.

Then the commotion started;

There was screaming from the nurses, who had finally caught on to the armed trio, which happened to be closing in fast, their guns raised and the fingers on the triggers. Shouting from said trio, the usual, '_stop right there!' _and _' Leave the girl, we ain't got problems with you!' _type deal. And John was just not in the mood. He was quick to pull his own gun out with his free hand, aiming low. And then shots were fired. John quickly shot all three of them, kneecapped, of course, leaving them to roll around on the ground. Lu stopped pounding against his back now,

"Oh my god. Holy fuckin' shit, you shot them. _What the hell is wrong with you?!" _She gasped out. John turned on a heel, heading through the exit toward the stairwell,

"At least they're already in a hospital." He remarked, lightly. Lu dropped her head then,

"I'm bein' kidnapped by a murderer, _Jesus Christ_, what the hell else could go wrong?"

"Mr. Reese? I've been given another number. It looks like Garves went through with the hitman. Lucille is in immediate danger." Finch chimed in, and John couldn't help the small, dry chuckle that escaped him as he made his way down the stairs, Lu's petite frame still on his broad shoulder. She was grasping his jacket now, eyeing the stairs below them warily.

"_Don't you drop me, John-_" She breathed out,

"You're a little late, Finch."


	6. 005:

**"Can you put me down now, or do you wanna carry me all the way through town?"** She asked, her fingers clutching his black jacket as he opened the exit, leading them to a little smoking area off the side of the hospital. John stopped,

"No running off, got it?"

Lu let out a huff, her wild hair had fallen in her face now, her stomach sore from his shoulder. She wasn't a fan of heights, either.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll hang around the guy who just shot three people." She remarked. John moved then, leaning forward with his hands on her waist as her toes touched the ground, Lu steadying herself against his forearms.

"They were after you. But I'm sure you already knew that. They also had guns." He informed her, quietly. She ran a hand through her hair, tilting her head back to glare at him.

"I did, too. At least, before you knocked it outta my hand. I had it under control." She countered, crossing her arms over her chest. He reached up to tap his earpiece, his gaze trained on her as he spoke,

"Finch. I'm bringing her back."

"Are you sure that's wise? She is actively searching for Garves and is considered dangerous." Finch warned him, and John's lips pulled up just the slightest bit as he eyed the shorter woman. _Dangerous, _he said_. The most damage she could do was rip the head off a teady bear, maybe kick someone in the shin. _He stood about a foot taller than her, her dark head of hair just reaching the height of his shoulder. She weighed next to nothing, carrying her down three flights of stairs a piece of cake.

"She's unarmed. We'll be there shortly." He recived no answer, the line going silent.

"Finch. Must be your boss, huh?" She quiered. John didn't give an answer, instead reaching down to tangle his arm with hers, pulling her close to his side as he walked down the small path leading to the sidewalk. She trudged alongside him as best she could, his legs significantly longer than hers.

"Strong silent type. I'd guess and say ex-military, but that'd be too obvious." She continued, glancing upwards in search of a reaction. "But someone's gotta be payin' you to stop me, how you even knew about it in the first place is beyond me. But I can tell you, I'll pay you twice as much once Garves is outta the picture. You don't even have to do it-"

"I'm not for sale." He cut her off sharply, and she frowned.

"Everyone's got a price, my dad used to say." She countered, and John let out a deep sigh.

"Your dad would be right, about everyone but me." They approached a sleek motercycle, and she halted in her steps, eyeing the bike warily.

"I'm not ridin' that. That thing is a two wheeled death trap."

John stopped beside her, taking a moment to check their surroundings. Free and clear, for now, before meeting her worried stare with his own steady gaze. Lu resisted the urge to look away,_ light blue, but dark in a way she couldn't describe._

"You ever rode one before?" He asked, lightly. She shook her head. John raised a brow, "There's a first time for everything." He gently urged her toward the bike, and she followed a brief moment, before suddenly halting her steps.

"W-wait, hold on. What about Garves? I go with you, and you make sure I don't kill the bastard. But what happens to him? He's not getting away scott free, is he?" For the first time since John had met her, she sounded desperate.

"We'll make sure Garves gets what he deserves, Lu. Trust me." He released his hold on her arm, his hand splayed out in a gesture for her to take. She narrowed her gaze, reaching out to take it, before hesitating.

"Promise me, John. Promise me that he'll get what's comin' to him. Even if that means he's lyin' in a ditch somewhere." She demanded, that defiant tone lacing her voice again.

"_John, we don't make promises we can't keep." _Finch spoke up, quietly in his ear, warning him. This was a line that Finch didn't cross, and by extension, John.

He reached up with his off hand, tapping the earpiece to silence it, before nodding once.

"I promise."

**.**

"Safety first." He spoke, almost teasingly if Lu didn't know any better, before he pulled the black helmet over her head. She let out a groan of annoyance, as he gently tipped her head back, adjusting the straps beneath her chin.

"Where's yours, mister danger?" She asked.

"Only got the one. And I got a feeling you're going to want it more than me." He answered, and she cocked a brow.

"What do you mean by that?"

"First time riders always feel...Unprepared." John remarked, before standing straight. She tilted her head back, the weight of the helmet putting a strain on her neck.

"Are there any rules or anythin'? I mean, you're being awfully vague here, John." She breathed out, watching him as he easily threw a leg over the sleek ride to straddle it, before gesturing her on with a quirk of his head.

"When I lean, you lean with me. Don't move around too much," She swallowed thickly as he continued, approaching the bike slowly. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she hoisted herself up and into the seat. Her body slid closer to his own, chest tight against his back. "And hold on tight." He finished. Lu quickly wrapped her arms around his torso, fingers interlocking against his chest as her heart picked up in her own.

"I'm havin' second thoughts. Can we call a cab or somethin'?" She joked, her tone a little unsteady as John kicked out the stand bar. His legs were plenty long enough to steady them, and she tightened her arms around him.

"You seem like the type to live dangerously, Lu. Why not add this to your list?" He joked, and she snorted out an involuntary laugh as he turned on the engine, revving it a couple times. The sound elicted goosebumps on her skin, the vibration of the bike rattling her to the bone.

He said nothing else as he pushed the bike onwards, his own body cantering slightly forward, and by extension, hers. she pressed the helmet against his back, between his broad shoulders as they rode, her fingers finding his pristine dress shirt to grasp as she let out a steadying breath.

They rode for what felt like an eternity. Eventually she had found the courage to life her head from his back, taking in the view from behind the tinted visor of the helmet. she wasnt sure how fast they were going, and quite frankly, she didnt want to know. They were flying past cars now, weaving through the steady traffic of the highway, and she grinned as the wind whipped at their clothes, her free hair dancing behind her head.

John revved the engine again, the bike pushed into a higher gear as the traffic spread out, giving them more room to work with. Lu was clinging to him still, leaning with him as he moved, pressed as close as she could be. And for the first time since she could remember, she felt free.

**.**

"Is this really nesessary?" Lu asked from beneath the sack on her head. John said nothing as he reached out and grasped her arm, "I mean. I've never even been to this part of town. I couldn't tell you where we are for the life of me-"

"That's the point." He remarked, "Watch your step." Lu let out a sigh as she stepped up,

"Not a great way to built trust, John." She countered, making her way up the concrete steps.

"Kind of like trying to pull your gun on the man who saved your life." He replied. Lu felt her cheeks grow warm,

"Hey. I was pullin' it for protection. You think I didn't notice those guys back there?"

"I know you didn't. You were going to shoot me to get away. A little ironic, if you ask me."

She heard the sound of a door opening, his guiding hands leading her across the threshold of the building. Their shoes tapped against the wood floor beneath them, the space chilly. She heard the door close behind them, before John pulled the sack off her head. Lu looked around, reaching up to tame her frazzled hair, before she caught sight of another man.

He was a little shorter, still taller than her though. Older, glasses. Walking with a limp, she noticed. Dressed impeccably with a pricey suit. He reminded her of her father, a little.

"You must be the imaginary friend." She said, "So he's not that crazy after all."

"Well, that is debatable, Miss Miller." He replied. Lu raised her brows, a suble smile pulling her lips.

"Why am I here? Wherever this is.." She admired the spacious area, looking to be more a library than a home. Behind Finch was an impressive computer setup. Residing at the base of the chair, a beautiful breed of dog she had only ever seen once before. Resembling a German Shepard,

"Belgian Malinois." She whispered. "A beautiful dog. I'm guessing he's runnin' security around here." The dog quirked his head a little, as though sizing her up.

"You've established a plan, Miss Miller." Finch began, "Killing Garves will do little in your favor, unless your goal is to live the next 20 years in the state penitentiary."

Lu frowned, taking a step closer to the older man. The dog perked up quick, John taking a step forward behind her,

"If you know as much as I do, you'd agree with me. He's a horrible man, lookin' for nothing but money and power. He already killed my dad, what's stoppin' him from taking out the rest of my family to get what he wants?"

"Well, for starters, the man standing behind you. You see, we have connections. Miss Miller. You accept our help, and we can put Garves away for a substantial period of time. You wouldnt have any blood on your hands. Let's handle this the correct way." Finch offered.

It was tempting, truly. But the thought of him being back out on the streets after a few years rung a sour tune with her.

"He killed my father." She sternly repeated.

"Murder isn't the answer." Finch countered.

Lu let out a breath, her gaze narrowing as she took a step back with contempt.

"Then it looks like we're at a standstill, _Finch_."


End file.
